Broken
by StarKid24
Summary: Dean, an alcoholic with a dead end job, is pressured into alcoholics anonymous by his little brother Sam. Dean thinks it's a waste of time but after seeing the AA sponsor, Castiel, Dean starts to think differently.
1. Late Again

Broken

"Dean... Dean... DEAN!"

Dean bolted up, his eyes flying open with surprise. It took his vision for a minute to clear and another minute for him to understand what was going on. Dean saw that he was in bed in a crappy motel room and his brother, Sam, was standing over him. He felt something in his hand and when he looked down, he noticed he was holding an empty whiskey bottle. It was then that Dean was aware of the dull throbbing headache deep in his skull. He opened his mouth to talk, but it was too dry. He swallowed and tried again.

"Sammy... what are you doing? I was sleeping." Dean rolled over to go back to sleep, but Sam shook him to keep him awake.

"Dean, you're gonna be late for work again if you don't get up." Sam said, still shaking Dean.

Dean opened his eyes slightly. "What are you talking about? My alarm hasn't even gone off yet."

"That's the problem," Sam sighed, "you never set the alarm last night."

Dean thought that was ridiculous, he always set the alarm, but, sure enough, the clock said 8:50 a.m. Dean's eyes flew open and he jumped out of bed, almost knocking Sam over in the process.

"Shit!" Dean exclaimed. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

"I didn't notice the time-" Sam said.

"Dammit Sam, you know I can't lose this job! Great now I'll probably get fired." Dean interrupted.

"Dean I'm sorry-"

"Sorry isn't gonna help me keep this job!" Dean interrupted once more. Sam went quiet and Dean looked over at him. Dean saw the look of hurt on his face and felt the guilt creep in again.

"Shit, Sammy, I'm sorry. I just- you know I need this job, for us." Dean said, fumbling for an explanation.

Sam didn't say anything, he just nodded, looking down. Dean walked over to his little brother and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sammy, I'm sorry. We'll talk more when I get home, I promise, okay?"

"Okay," Sam said quietly, his eyes still looking down.

Dean wanted to say more, to make his brother understand that he wasn't really mad at him, but he was already late as it is.

"I'll see you at 5, Sam," Dean said grabbing his leather jacket and leaving the motel room.

Dean walked down two flights of stairs to get to the lobby and then exited, walking toward his 1967 Chevy Impala parked across the street. Dean smiled as he saw the car; he loved that thing more than anything, except Sam, of course. Dean got in and grinned more as he heard the roar of the engine. He pulled onto the road and watched for cops as he sped to try to make it to work on time.

Well, Dean made it to work, but he was late. Like always, the manager was waiting for him and chewed him out for being late again. Dean really didn't care, the manager was a hardass anyway. To be honest, the manager kind of reminded Dean of his Father, John.

It hadn't been too long ago that he and Sam had lost their father. John had gotten into a bad fight over some money and it didn't end too well. Sam was only fourteen and Dean had been eighteen. Their mother had died when Sam was a baby so he hadn't known her, but Dean had been four and he missed her. After their dad had died, Dean had to get a job to make sure Sam had everything he needed. There was no one else to take care of them, so they had to take care of themselves. Dean knew Sam missed their dad, but Dean didn't. He didn't miss him one bit. Sam never really knew the real John, the one who got rough when something went wrong. Dean had made sure Sam never had to see John when he was like that.

"Dean, are you even listening to me?" Dean's manager said, pulling Dean out of his reverie.

"Yeah, sure," Dean replied.

The manager just rolled his eyes and told Dean to get to work. He warned Dean that if he was late one more time this week, he would have no choice but to fire him. Dean moved to his register, preparing himself for yet another boring day. As Dean was setting up his register, he began to feel nauseous. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. This was gonna be a long day. God, Dean thought, I really need a drink.


	2. Final Straw

Dean was watching the minutes slowly tick away on the clock on the wall. Just five more minutes, Dean thought. But Dean knew that this would be the longest five minutes of his life. Time always moves slower when you're wishing it would move faster. Dean just needed to get home to talk to Sam and make sure things were okay between them. Dean always hated leaving Sam after having a fight, but this time it couldn't be helped. Dean looked at the clock again and there were still four minutes left. Dean sighed, putting his head in his hands, still feeling the throbbing headache.

"Dean." Dean looked up and saw his manager standing over him. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, preparing for whatever crap his manager was going to blame him for this time.

"What, Jeff?" Dean asked, bracing himself for the answer.

Jeff hesitated slightly then said, "You don't look so good. Are you feeling okay?"

Dean just looked at Jeff for a minute. Dean couldn't understand why Jeff was being nice to him; Jeff had always thought Dean was a pathetic degenerate.

"Yeah, Jeff," Dean replied. "I'm fine."

"Dean," Jeff said, "you smell like whiskey. Were you drunk last night?"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. Who the hell was Jeff to ask him that?

"I'm fine Jeff. And why do you care anyway?" Dean replied sharply.

"This is the third time this week that I've noticed, Dean." Jeff said softly. "And today is only a Thursday. Maybe you should, you know, get some help."

Dean was furious. How could this pretentious prick say something like that to him? Jeff didn't know anything about his life and he sure as hell didn't get to judge his choices.

"Fuck you, Jeff," Dean growled.

Jeff looked back at Dean with stunned silence. Dean felt so much better finally saying that.

"Dean-" Jeff started.

"No, Fuck you, Jeff!" Dean shouted over him. "You have no idea what I'm going through! I'm working in this dead end job because I have a responsibility to my little brother! I'm the only one he has so I don't need you to tell me what to do with my life!"

Jeff looked sadly into Dean's eyes then said, "Dean, I'm just trying to help you."

"I don't need any goddamn help from you!" Dean screamed. "You don't even know what it's like to be responsible for anyone! You have no one!"

Jeff closed his eyes for a minute and when he opened them he said softly, "Dean, you're fired. I'm sorry." Then Jeff turned and walked away.

Dean balled up his fists, breathing heavily. How was he going to explain to Sam that he lost another job? This was the third one in a month. Finally Dean calmed down long enough to grab his things and stormed out, resolving to never go back there again.

Dean got into the Impala and slammed the door shut. For two minutes he just sat there with rage washing over him. Then he turned the keys and started driving back to the hotel to talk to Sam.

On his way back to the hotel, Dean passed a liquor store. God I need a drink right now, Dean thought. No, I need to get back to the hotel and talk to Sammy. Dean stopped the car at a light and looked back at the liquor store in his rear view mirror. Just one drink won't hurt. Dean looked down the road, saw that no one was coming, and made a U-turn.

45 minutes later, Dean was getting ready to drive back to the motel. There was one whiskey bottle in the seat next to him, and he was getting ready to open another. Dean's vision was blurry, but he had driven home in worse conditions before. He just hoped that he wouldn't get stopped by any cops.

Dean was lucky, he didn't see any cops on his way home and finally pulled into a parking spot. He walked up to the motel, whiskey bottle still in hand, and started climbing the stairs to his room.

Dean fumbled for the key in his pocket and as he took it out, he dropped it.

"Dammit," Dean swore in his slurred speech. He bent down to pick up the key and almost fell over. Dean had used the door to keep his balance and as he was standing back up, Sam opened the door.

"Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean slurred as he walked into the motel room.

"Dean have you been drinking again?" Sam asked concerned.

"Yup, I have Sammy. So what?" Dean asked nonchalantly.

"So what? Dean you can't be serious." Sam said incredulously.

Dean herd something move behind him so he turned to find the sound. It was then he spotted a girl sitting at their kitchen table. She had long wavy blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She was watching Dean with concern set into her face.

"Well now, who's this, Sammy?" Dean asked grinning at his brother.

"I'm, Jess," the girl replied, "I go to school with Sam."

"She's a pretty one Sammy." Dean said with pride in his brother.

"Dean, stop it." Sam said, unamused.

Dean laughed. "Oh come on Sammy, I'm just joking around!"

"No, Dean," Sam said firmly. "This had to stop now."

Dean squinted at his brother. "What are you talking about?"

"You're drinking, Dean," Sam sighed. "I didn't want to say anything but now it's gone too far. You can't keep drinking like this everyday, you'll kill yourself! And I don't want you to die Dean! You're my brother and I care about you, but this needs to stop now."

Dean was beginning to get a headache again and pinched the bridge of his nose. For a moment, there was only the sound of Dean's heavy breathing.

"What the hell do you know about this Sam?" Dean said through gritted teeth.

"I've looked it up," Sam replied.

"You looked it up," Dean repeated. "That doesn't make you an expert Sam, hell, you're only sixteen."

"Exactly, Dean, I'm only sixteen, if you died what am I supposed to do?"

"I'm not gonna die," Dean said angrily.

"If you keep doing this you are! I mean, you drove home like this! What if you had gotten into an accident? What then Dean? I would be alone," Sam yelled.

"You don't know what you're talking about, I'm fine."

"No," Sam said, "you're not Dean. I think you need help."

Dean smiled wryly thinking of Jeff earlier that day. "Christ will you give it a rest Sam?"

"No, I won't, because you have a problem and-" Sam started.

"SHUT THE HELL UP, SAM!" Dean screamed at his brother.

No one moved for a moment. Then Jess quietly got up, grabbed her jacket, and started moving toward the door.

"Jess, wait," Sam pleaded moving to close the door.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Jess said quickly, "I have to get home. I'll see you tomorrow." Then she opened the door, and left without another word. Sam sighed and placed his forehead against the door. Slowly, Sam turned back around to Dean.

"Thanks Dean. That was really great." Sam said sarcastically.

"Oh grow up Sam. I don't need this shit from you too." Dean said going for his whiskey bottle again. Sam reached around him and grabbed it before he could.

"Give me that," Dean said, glaring at his brother.

"No," Sam said, glaring back.

"GODDAMN IT SAM, GIVE ME THE BOTTLE!" Dean yelled, reaching for the bottle. Sam moved it away, but Dean's reflexes were slow and he fell into the table.

"Sam, you better give me that bottle right now," Dean threatened.

"Or what, Dean, you gonna hit me," Sam bit back.

Dean was just about pissed enough to do it, but then he thought of his father. He thought of what his father did when he got mad and he felt shame. Dean looked away from Sam.

"I have to get out of here," Dean said quickly. He walked to the door, pulled it open, and then slammed it shut behind him. He walked down the stairs and to his Impala without a backward glance.


	3. The Meeting

Dean drove around for hours, not going anywhere in particular, just wanting to drive. Whenever he felt the whiskey wearing off, he would stop and grab another bottle for the road. Finally, Dean had drank too much and blacked out.

When he woke up the next day, he was in the backseat of his Impala with a horrifying headache, a mouth that felt like cotton, and the urge to vomit to badly that he almost threw up in the car. After he was done retching, he opened the door and sat with his head in his hands. He kept playing back the fight he had with Sam the day earlier. He was horrified at what he had done and what he had said to his brother. He needed to get back to the motel and apologize right now but, looking at the clock, he realized Sam would still be in school. And Dean knew he couldn't drive in his condition anyway. So, Dean just sat with his head in his hands, feeling like the biggest ass on the planet.

After a few minutes, Dean heard a car coming up the road but ignored it, not wanting to attract attention to himself. He waited for it to pass, but it didn't. Dean looked up curiously, wondering what this guy wanted. When Dean saw who the driver was, he was in awe. In the driver's seat was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. This man had dark black hair and piercing blue eyes that made Dean feel like this man could read his soul. He was wearing a suit with a blue tie and a white shirt with the top button undone. Over the suit, he was wearing a beige trench coat that was a bit ruffled. This man couldn't have been much older than Dean, but his eyes made him seem centuries older. His eyes made this man seem like he had seen years and years of life.

"You need any help?" the stranger asked kindly."

"No, I'm fine," Dean answered in a raspy voice.

"Is there something wrong with your car? I used to be a mechanic, maybe I could help," the stranger offered.

"I'm fine," Dean replied trying to fight off his headache. "Don't worry about me."

Dean listened as the strange man began to pull away and put his head back in his hands. But Dean looked up again when he heard the stranger's car engine cut off.

Dean watched the man get out of his car, which he had parked on the side of the road, and walk over to him. Neither of them said anything, but it didn't seem awkward to Dean. They both just stared at each other, both wondering what to say, and not saying anything.

"Are you sure you don't need help?" the stranger said after five minutes of silent staring.

Dean put his head in his hands again. "I don't know," Dean mumbled.

"What's your name?" the strange man said bending down in order to be at eye level with Dean.

"Dean, Dean Winchester," he said.

"I'm Castiel Novak," the stranger said.

"Castiel," Dean repeated, "that's a strange name."

Castiel smiled slightly. "Yeah, my parents were very religious. They picked my and my siblings names from the bible."

"Hmmm," Dean grunted.

"Dean," Castiel said quietly, "are you hungover?"

Dean looked up at Castiel. How did he know that? Probably the smell of whiskey, but Dean thought the wind took the scent away.

"How did you know that?" Dean asked.

Castiel hesitated slightly then said, "Because I used to be like you."

"Yeah right," Dean replied bitterly. "How are we alike?"

"Because I used to be an alcoholic too," Castiel said softly.

"I'm not an alcoholic!" Dean yelled defensively, then winced from his headache, which was getting worse.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't mean to offend you. I just assumed because my behavior was very much like yours when I got drunk. I'm sorry, I'll go." Castiel said getting up and turning up to walk away.

"Wait," Dean called after him.

Castiel turned around and looked at him with curiosity. "What is it Dean?"

Dean paused, unsure of how to answer. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times, but no sound ever came out. Eventually, Dean just closed his eyes and put his head in his hands again, trying his hardest to hold back his tears.

Soon, Dean felt a hand on his back. He looked up and Castiel was holding out a scrap of paper in front of Dean.

"What's this?" Dean asked, taking the scrap of paper.

"It's the address for an alcoholics anonymous meeting. This really helped me when I was in trouble. You don't have to come, I just thought you might like to have it just in case," Castiel explained. Then, without another word, he turned around, walked to his car, and turned back to Dean once more.

"Just think about it," Castiel said. He opened the driver's side door, got in, and drove away, leaving Dean staring at the piece of paper.

For a few minutes Dean just sat there looking at the address on the paper. 612 Deacon Road. That was only a few block away from the motel. Dean folded the scrap and put it in his pocket while getting up from the backseat. When Dean got in the front seat and turned on the car, he pulled out onto the road, going back to the motel to tell Sam about what he was going to do.


End file.
